


Slipped From Your Mouth Into Mine

by ladyblahblah



Series: Come To My Window [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Oops I accidentally feels, Oral Sex, Power Play, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, this is what happens when you ask for a follow-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyblahblah/pseuds/ladyblahblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill.  A follow-up to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/461812">Hale Bait</a>.  Derek comes back for round two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipped From Your Mouth Into Mine

**Author's Note:**

> The amount of self-control it took to keep from titling this "Hale Mate" was truly phenomenal, I want you guys to know that. Also, sorry for the excess of cheesy feels? Only not really. This is what happens when you ask for a follow-up.

 

 

Today has been, Stiles thinks, one of the longest days of his life. Part of that—okay, maybe _most_ of it—has been his own fault. After all, it wasn't like he really expected Derek to show up in the middle of the day, even if Stiles _had_ left his window open all that time. Stiles a young, active person, and it shouldn't have taken Scott's sad puppy eyes and a reminder that Stiles had _promised_ they'd hang out today to actually get him out of his room. He certainly shouldn't have spent the four hours and seventeen minutes they _were_ hanging out compulsively checking the time, or worrying that Derek might've shown up while he was gone, seen that Stiles wasn't there, and changed his mind altogether.

 

That was clearly a ridiculous thing to do, but Stiles is willing to cut himself a break, because he's still shy of nineteen years old and so  _ridiculous_ is kind of in his job description.

 

Unfortunately, it's almost midnight and there's still no sign of Derek, and he has to admit that he's probably crossed the line from  _ridiculous_ to  _pathetic_ at this point. And okay, looking back, technically Derek hadn't actually said he would be coming by at all; he'd just told Stiles to leave his window open, which hey, maybe he'd just wanted easier access for sneaking in and stealing something out of Stiles's room. Not that Stiles thinks he has much that Derek Hale would be interested in stealing, really, but it still seems like a more believable theory than Stiles being the object of some sort of uncontrollable, prurient werewolf lust.

 

Whatever. He's already wasted fourteen hours of his day pointlessly waiting on that infuriating, brooding creeperwolf, and that's more than enough as far as he's concerned. Stiles isn't going to obsess, just because Derek is gorgeous and sexy and Stiles can't remember ever coming as hard as he did last night. Just because he's practically been gagging for him since the first time they met. Just because Stiles nursed a truly monumental crush on him for the better part of three years; just because sometime last year he'd realized that  _crush_ really didn't cover it anymore; just because somewhere between all the saving and being saved and running for their lives and finding out that there's an actual  _person_ beneath the arrogance and intimidation, he'd done something as stupid as fall in love with Derek Hale. 

 

Just because he'd thought that there might be the slim chance that Derek might think of him as something more than a stupid, fragile human  _kid_ , and that maybe, just maybe last night had meant—

 

Right. Not obsessing.

 

He needs to clear his head, that's what he needs. And considering he's been skirting a razor's edge of arousal all day, he knows just the way to do it. Which is why two minutes later he's on his hands and knees, head buried in his closet as he paws through a box of old action figures, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. There's no way his dad found it, he's telling himself, not without sitting him down for an  _extremely_ awkward conversation, so it's gotta be here somewhere, it's just—

 

“Looking for something?”

 

Stiles jumps at the sudden voice behind him, letting out a strangled yelp as he cracks his head against the doorframe. He glances over his shoulder to see Derek sitting at his ease in Stile's desk chair, a grin on his face that might be charitably described as  _wicked_ and more accurately as  _fucking evil_ . His head tilts, and his eyes skim down Stiles's body to linger shamelessly on the curve of his ass.

 

“Don't let me interrupt,” he says, and the the last time he said that Stiles was naked and hard and leaking all over himself. The memory hits him like a freight train and sends him scrambling frantically to his feet, seeking shelter in bravado.

 

“Hey.” Stiles rubs his palms against his jeans in what's probably the least subtle move ever, his head nodding spastically and Jesus Christ, is it any wonder he can't get laid? He licks his lips nervously. “Decided to come after all?”

 

Derek arches an eyebrow. “That really depends on you, don't you think?”

 

“Uh.” Stiles's mouth goes dry as dust, and there's no way in hell Derek won't notice the way he's suddenly half-hard at the insinuation. “That's not what I—you can't just—” He sighs, giving up denial as a bad job. “I don't know how to deal with you,” he says instead, and lets his attention be caught by the faint sound of shifting leather as Derek shrugs.

 

“It's really not complicated.” He stands, all sinuous grace and carefully checked power, his eyes locked on Stiles's now. “I enjoyed watching you last night. I'd like it if you let me watch you again,” he says, moving slowly closer. He glances at the closet, then back to Stiles. “Give up on what you were looking for?”

 

“Sort of.” Stiles stifles the urge to step back, primal instinct to retreat from an approaching predator. He lifts his chin with a confidence he doesn't quite feel and sends a cocky smile Derek's way. “If you've got something better to off—oh, fucking hell.” He deflates, bravado deserting him as realization hits. “You have it, don't you?”

 

“You mean this?” 

 

Derek is smiling like a shark—or, dare Stiles say it, like a wolf—as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out the small silver vibrator, cord neatly binding it to the attached remote. Stiles makes a grab for it, unsurprised when Derek holds it easily out of reach.

 

“Do I even want to know how you got that?” he asks, resigned even as he feels his face flushing a hot, bright red. Derek simply shrugs again, hefting the toy in his palm like he's testing its weight.

 

“I came by this afternoon, but you weren't here.” He smiles wider. “You really shouldn't leave your window open like that when you're not at home.”

 

“You told me to.” The words are out of his mouth before Stiles can stop them, and Derek freezes in place for a moment as something hot flashes in his eyes.

 

“I've heard you using this before, you know. It's hard to hear the way it buzzes when it's inside you, but I'd know anyway.” His voice, when he speaks, is lower than it was a moment before. Rougher. The sound of it sends a thrill of anticipation up Stiles's spine. “The way your breath catches; the way you have to bury your face in the pillow when it hits just the right spot. You don't want anyone to hear you. But _I_ heard.” He's edged closer, near enough that Stiles can feel the waves of heat that are pouring off of him. His gaze drops to Stiles's lips. “And now you're going to show me.”

 

Stiles swallows heavily. “You seem awfully sure about that for someone who hasn't even—”

 

“Stiles. Strip.”

 

“Okay.”

 

He could fight it, keep pretending that Derek has to talk him into this, but what's the point? It's not like he'd be fooling anyone, not when Derek can literally smell a lie on him. And stalling seems like a pretty terrible idea when he's hard and empty and aching and Derek is close enough to touch. This might not be exactly what he wants, but if it's all that he can get then he's damn well going to take it.

 

His arms get tangled in his shirts as he tries to tug them off, making him blush even harder; by the time he manages to squirm free, Derek is back in the chair, smirking as Stiles tosses the tangled mess of sleeves carelessly aside. Stiles's hands pause at the waistband of his jeans, his heart hammering in his chest. Derek's eyes are sliding over his body, his legs shifting wider as he drinks in the sight of him.

 

“Off,” he bites out.

 

The command startles Stiles back into motion. He stumbles a little when his jeans catch around his ankles and lets himself fall heavily onto the bed, kicking violently at the denim before wriggling back to prop himself against the headboard. Probably safer this way in any case, he thinks, pleased all out of proportion with himself when he manages to shimmy out of his underwear without incident.

 

“So.” Stiles licks his lips again, letting his legs fall open. “You're really just gonna . . . sit there?” Derek doesn't answer, just tosses the vibrator towards the bed; Stiles catches it, only fumbling a little. “Because, you know, there's lots of room over here. I mean, not 'lots of room' in the sense that I could host an orgy in my bed or anything, but—” He chokes off, clears his throat. “Room for two, anyway.”

 

“I'm good here,” Derek smirks, and Stiles sighs.

 

“Okay. Um.” The embarrassment that had been absent last night is hitting him now, making him squirm against the comforter. He watches Derek's chest rise and fall in slow, deep breaths, and the realization hits that Derek's taking in his scent. Stiles groans softly, his hand reaching down of its own volition to fist around his cock. “I don't . . . _ah_ . . . don't really know what you want me to—what I should do.”

 

Derek's eyes flash. “Do you need instructions?”

 

“M-maybe.” Stiles's hips are shifting now, thrusting shallowly into his right hand. His left is still clutching the vibrator, already warm from Derek's body heat. “Lube,” he hears himself saying. “I should, um. Yeah, I need . . . need . . .”

 

He has to release his cock to reach beneath his pillow and grab the bottle he stashed there this morning; his hips keep moving, desperately seeking friction against the empty air. A low, dark growl rumbles out of Derek's chest at the sight, and Stiles pulls his legs open wider on pure instinct. He's fumbled the cap open and is about to slick up his fingers when Derek's voice stops him.

 

“No.” Stiles looks up to where Derek's sitting, watches his eyes flick between Stiles's hands and his open legs. His throat works heavily. “You'll still be a little loose from last night; you don't need your fingers first.”

 

A thrill of mingled excitement and nerves makes Stiles's stomach twist. “I . . . it's too big, I can't—”

 

“You can,” Derek growls. “You will.”

 

Stiles's eyes fall closed. He's not sure he likes this—not the order itself, but how desperately he wants to obey it. He doesn't like being told what to do, will struggle and protest against authority at every opportunity, so he doesn't understand why hearing Derek like this sends such a dark, delightful thrill through him. Doesn't understand why he's reaching for the vibrator again almost without thinking, his cock throbbing in anticipation as he squeezes a heavy stream of lube over the surface.

 

He slides down until his back is flat against the mattress, knees bent and open wide. When he reaches down, rubbing the tip of the toy over his hole, his breath hitches at the cool slide of the lube against his skin. There's a rumble of approval from across the room, and it gives him the strength to fight past his nerves and begin to press the vibrator slowly inside.

 

Derek had been right: his muscles are still stretched from last night, and though there's a burning ache there's no actual pain. The thought that he's been this open all day is dizzying; if he'd been home this afternoon when Derek had come, would this have been even easier? Would Derek have been able to push him down and slide two fingers inside of him just like this? It takes him a moment to realize he's moaning just at the thought, and another moment to realize he's worked the vibrator fully inside already.

 

“Derek.” He feels deliciously full; he squeezes his muscles around the toy for the sheer pleasure of feeling it inside of him. His mouth is hanging open as he pants for breath, and he fists one hand around his cock as the other fumbles for the vibrator's tiny remote. “Please.”

 

“Please what?” Derek asks hoarsely, and Stiles whines.

 

“Please get the _fuck_ over here,” he bursts out. His eyes shoot open to fix Derek with a nakedly pleading gaze. “I want you to touch me.”

 

Derek's hands clench into fists. “That's a bad idea.”

 

“No. Nonononono,” Stiles babbles. “It's an excellent idea, all my ideas are excellent, come on. I know you want to.” It's not until the words are out of his mouth that Stiles realizes that they're true, and his breath escapes him on a long, deep sigh. “I _know you want to_ ,” he repeats. “And I want you to, so stop being a sexual martyr and just get over here and take what I'm offering, would you?”

 

“You don't _know_ what you're offering,” Derek says, but he shifts forward in his seat like he can't quite help himself. “Stiles, if I touch you . . . I'm not good at casual relationships.” He tears his gaze away from the roll of Stiles's hips and forces his eyes up. “I don't like them, and I'm not interested in one.”

 

“And where exactly does 'sitting in a chair, watching me get myself off for you' fall on the casual/serious spectrum?” Stiles snaps. Derek looks startled; Stiles just rolls his eyes and drops his hands to prop himself up on his elbows. “You think I'm gonna freak out because you decide I'm yours? Newsflash, Einstein.” He gestures expansively at himself, blushing a little again at the picture he knows he makes. “I don't do this for just anyone. I'm _already_ yours. Now would you get your wolfy ass over here and—mmph!”

 

Derek's mouth on his cuts him off, and Stiles lets his diatribe melt into an encouraging moan. The scrape of stubble against his lips has his head spinning, and it seems only reasonable for him to grip tight to Derek's shoulders in an attempt to steady himself. He's disappointed for a moment, because as hot as the leather jacket is—and really, there's no denying that—Stiles can't help but think that Derek would look much, much better without it.

 

“You know,” he pulls away to remark, tilting his head back so that Derek can move his mouth down the column of his throat, “if you wanted to get _really_ crazy, you could lose the clothes, too. Mutual nudity is all the rage in sex these days. It's true, I totally read that somewheeeeeeeeeeere ohh _god_.”

 

“I,” Derek rumbles against his skin, licking at the spot he's just bitten, “am _really_ going to enjoy shutting you up.”

 

“Yeah?” Stiles's laugh sounds a little bit unhinged. “Good luck with that. Others have tried, but they've never . . . uh . . .” Derek's hand is sliding over his hip, long fingers curling tightly around Stiles's cock. “Never . . .” His thoughts stutter to a halt again as Derek starts to work at him in long, slow pulls, trailing wet, sucking kisses down Stiles's chest. “Oh, fuck it,” Stiles breathes, grinning at the snort of laughter that's smothered against his stomach.

 

By the time Derek's tongue darts out to swipe across the head of Stiles's cock, Stiles is afraid he might just come right then and there. His hips lift off of the bed, chasing the feeling, and he's surprised when Derek obliges. If he could think at all right now, Stiles would have expected him to go for the tease, to hold back until Stiles is begging for more. But Derek is already pulling him in, lips wrapped tightly around Stiles's cock as he sinks down; his tongue does some sort of clever, wicked twist, and his hungry hum has Stiles biting his lip almost bloody as he holds back a cry. Derek's head bobs swiftly up and down, and Stiles has to close his eyes against the sight to focus on the warm, wet suction of Derek's mouth.

 

He's breathing harshly when Derek releases the hand that's curled around his hip, reaching up to twine his fingers through Stiles's. It's unexpectedly sweet, and Stiles feels his heart turn over an instant before Derek pulls away again; his hand feels shockingly empty, and it's not until he feels a low buzzing inside of him that he realizes why. Derek lifts his head and turns the remote a setting higher as Stiles arches up with a high whine caught in his throat, smirking up at him even as he sprinkles biting kisses over his thighs.

 

“Derek.” Stiles's hands are scrabbling at the mattress as he desperately attempts to ground himself. “Fuck. _Derek_.”

 

That's enough to pull a pleased growl out of Derek, and maybe that sort of thing shouldn't be so hot, but Stiles really can't be bothered to give a fuck when Derek's mouth is suddenly back on him. Stiles is lost, hands lifting to thread through Derek's hair as Derek reaches down to run a finger around the rim of Stiles's hole, stretched tight around the vibrator. The flick of a switch seems as loud as a gunshot, and Stiles can't hold back his shout this time when the vibrator kicks into an even higher speed. He's coming, shaking apart and spilling himself into Derek's mouth before he slumps back down onto the bed, trembling through the aftershocks as Derek licks him carefully clean.

 

He's floating in a haze of endorphins when Derek moves up, straddling Stiles's hips and tearing at his jeans until he has them open enough to shove the denim over his hips. Stiles reaches up, sliding his hands over Derek's thighs as he watches him start to work himself over.

 

“Come on,” he whispers, stretching himself out as best he can. “Come, come on, I want it. God, you're fucking gorgeous, _do it_.”

  
When Derek comes it's with a groan that Stiles can feel all the way down to his toes, and his cock gives an interested twitch despite being unable to do anything more about it. Derek falls down in a heap next to him, his head resting on Stiles's shoulder, panting out ragged breaths. After a moment he shifts, turning his head to lick lazily at the mess he's made of Stiles's chest and stomach, and Stiles shivers.

 

“Dating a werewolf's going to be weird, isn't it?” he says sleepily, and feels Derek smile against his skin.

 

“Not so weird,” Derek says. Stiles snorts.

 

“Liar.”

 

“Think you can get used to it?” The question is quiet; Stiles hums softly as he shifts closer to his still-annoyingly-dressed boyfriend.

 

“I think maybe I already have,” he murmurs, and lets the pleased rumble in Derek's chest lull him into sleep.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feel free to follow me on Tumblr (hungrylikethewolfie) if you enjoy multi-fandom flailing and shiny things.


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